


to smother a wildfire

by singsungie



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Witchcraft, fair warning for lots of fire imagery, kinda ghibli movie inspired?, magical au, very cottage-core
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singsungie/pseuds/singsungie
Summary: Ever since he was a child, Jisung has been plagued by dreams filled with flames. Not one to run from his destiny, he moves into an old house in the middle of the woods, and decides to face it head on.Soon enough, though, he discovers he might be getting more than he bargained for.(The cute neighbor, however, is definitely an unexpected benefit.)
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yoyoyo i decided i'm tired of keeping this in my drafts so imma let it out into the world ;3  
> please heed the warning about fire imagery - there's plenty of that here and even more to come!  
> i'm not really gonna set a schedule for this, but hopefully i'll be able to update soonish!  
> as always, big thanks to all my dear friends for looking over this and keeping me sane!! ily all sm <3333  
> hope you enjoy!

**_Summer_ **

_Jisung can always feel the heat before he even opens his eyes. It’s long since become a familiar tingling in his cheeks, and when he looks, he always finds the expected flames, already grown so tall they’re licking the very tops of trees before him._

_Despite the heat on his skin and fire at his fingertips, there’s no fear coursing through Jisung’s body. He stands there for a moment, in front of the burning forest, and watches the image become clearer, listens to it grow louder. The crackling flows closer, turning into a roar until one of the trees—an oak, Jisung guesses, though it’s becoming hard to see through the orange waves—in front of him gives in. A snap, then some more and suddenly it falls sideways, onto a surprisingly still mostly intact birch tree. The fire gives in some and Jisung takes a couple steps closer, keeping his eyes up towards the darkening sky._

_Plenty of birds are fleeing the forest, but Jisung just watches them weave between tendrils of smoke, waiting. His sign shows up soon enough: a couple of small birds, white and gray with a stripe of striking black across their eyes shoot out, circling over his head and around one another before disappearing up high._

_Jisung lets his gaze fall, takes in a deep breath and walks inside the forest._

  
  


“It needs a little bit of work,” the woman tells Jisung, pushing the door open. It creaks, the wood darkened with age. Tiny flecks of dust dance in the early morning rays, hiding under Jisung’s shadow.

“It’s perfect,” Jisung sighs, carefully stepping inside. The floor is dirty and there’s spider webs hanging from the ceiling; barely a sliver of light escapes through boarded up windows. The smell inside is stale but herbal—must be the bundles of flowers Jisung can see near the door, dried up and withered but still colorful—and the fireplace is filled with ashes. He turns around to grin at the woman who stayed outside the door. “I love it.”

“Well, glad to know I’m leaving it in good hands,” the previous owner smiles back. “Is that all then?”

“Sure,” Jisung looks back, sweeping his gaze over the barren shelves when his eyes catch a glint of glass. “Oh, someone must have forgotten that clock over there.”

“That old thing?” And it really looks old, the silver curls around its face tarnished, the hands stuck at fifteen to two and not a minute more, its pendulum still. “It’s been broken since I was a baby, never knew why grandma kept it. Feel free to throw it out.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Jisung says then takes in a sharp breath. He blinks, throwing his gaze to the ground, then looks back up, but it doesn’t seem to be a trick of light—the second hand has definitely started ticking, though the pendulum hasn’t moved a slightest bit. 

When he turns around, the woman is gone.

Jisung gets to work soon enough. The former owner told him her grandma lived there, but it’s been standing empty for years, worthless to them, too far away from the city and in the middle of a forest where it’s easy to get lost (Jisung knows that first hand, it took him an hour of driving back and forth on an old gravel road, looking for an entry into the forest that was overgrown and terrible for his beat-up yellow pickup). 

In a way, that makes it perfect for Jisung. Maybe someone else would be wary of taking their residence between the trees, but he didn’t even think twice when he saw the listing, and the doubt he worried would creep in once he’s alone doesn’t show its face at all.

Jisung isn’t used to physical work and there's a bit of a struggle to unboard the windows, but by the time noon is here everything is open and the house slowly, but surely fills with fresh air. He makes quick work of the overgrown driveway and by lunchtime he’s got the place swept and dusted too.

Jisung eats his lunch sitting in the front seat of his car, looking out into the forest. A squirrel runs between the branches; somewhere nearby a woodpecker can be heard and dozens of other small forest creatures adding in to the background chorus that’s so different from the city rush Jisung’s familiar with.

This feels more right somehow anyway.

Once he’s done washing the windows and floors and cleaning out the fireplace, he takes a moment to just stand and take it in—the ache of his limbs and the blissful emptiness of his mind. 

Jisung keeps going, so it stays that way for a little longer. 

Brings in his own stuff from the truck, a back-and-forth like a ticking clock, possibly ticking towards the nighttime or maybe the future or maybe something else he is barely aware of yet. All too soon, the last box is inside, one of many carefully stacked around the walls, and the only thing left is the mattress. It’s a brand new mess, but it’s the kind that is exciting, and he’s in the middle of it; the slight herbal smell mixes with pine in Jisung’s lungs and he feels more present than ever before.

By the time the mattress settles into the bed-frame, the wooden walls are painted orange. Jisung eats dinner before putting on bedding and washes his face with almost freezing water. There’s a bathroom with a shower inside, thankfully, and an old gas stove, and he should figure out how it all works (should have asked, honestly, but he doubts the granddaughter knows anyway). There are so many other little things he’s sure he’ll discover soon enough.

But all that is left for tomorrow. Jisung takes one last look at the clock on the wall, polished back to its shining silvery glory, and for a moment considers adjusting it to correct time. All three hands meet at the fourth hour and he decides to leave it alone.

The night falls on Jisung’s peaceful, sleeping face; windows wide open, a cold breeze on his skin and a smile on his lips. His sleep is long and dreamless, the pitch black comforting and cotton-soft.

Outside, the dew-soaked grass bends under invisible feet, tree leaves shimmer with hushed whispers and a crow flies off towards a moonless sky.

Next day, Jisung discovers a bakery in the town nearby on his run for gas and firewood. A curly haired young man behind the counter greets him with a big grin.

“Welcome!” he almost shouts and Jisung is a little wary, but the place smells strongly of cinnamon and the colors behind glass entice him closer.

He smiles at the cashier before eyeing a full rack of different desserts, mouth already watering at all the possibilities.

“I’d like a—” Jisung starts, turning towards the cashier, but he just shakes his head.

“Sorry, we only have raspberry cheesecake today,” he says.

“But,” Jisung blinks at him. “But what about—”

When he looks to the shelves again, there’s indeed just a piece of raspberry cheesecake, pink and sweet. Jisung freezes for a moment, but the memory of colourful dishes is already dissipating. He doesn’t think too much about it.

“Guess I’m having that today,” he says, relaxing his frown, and the cashier grins, pulling out the dessert. “And an iced americano, please.”

“My pleasure,” the cashier gives him an exaggerated wink and Jisung laughs, taking the plate with the cheesecake to a table.

He chooses one that is close to the door and watches people pass the wide windows by as he waits. He gets so engrossed in the lively stream of passersby, that Jisung barely even notices when his coffee is placed in front of him and only turns to see the cashier already leaving.

The coffee is good, so Jisung gives in and lifts a forkful of cheesecake to his mouth. He almost freezes for a moment, blinking in surprise, because the pie is perfect in a way Jisung couldn’t have expected from something looking so simple. The sweet and sour balance each other and it melts right on his tongue; it takes all Jisung’s will to not immediately stuff the rest of it into his mouth.

“It’s good, isn’t it,” someone to his side laughs and Jisung turns to find another customer staring at him. He lifts his own cup—a steaming one, which is a weird choice for the summer heat—and nods at Jisung. “I’m Woojin. Are you the kid that moved into Song’s old forest house?”

“Not a kid,” Jisung answers, swallowing the bite and already digging in again. “But yes, I am. I’m Jisung.”

“Huh,” Woojin squints his eyes and his smile fades a little. “Well, good luck.”

Jisung opens his mouth to ask what he means, but Woojin downs the rest of his cup and takes his dishes to the counter. He watches, stuffing his cheeks with cheesecake, as the man walks towards the exit, stopping briefly by his table to lean down.

“You might want to be more careful with names around here,” he whispers, tilting his head in the direction of the cashier. “You never know who’s listening.”

Once again, he’s already gone before Jisung can question him. The cashier notices his stare and flashes him a smile. Something about the curl of his lips sends shivers down Jisung’s back, so he looks back down at his dessert.

There’s something about _this_ treat that’s different from the millions of cheesecakes he’s had before, even the ones from his favorite coffee shop.

It tastes like freedom and happiness, more and more, filling Jisung up with every bite and yet making him feel lighter than an air balloon.

  
  


There’s an orange tabby on his doorstep when Jisung comes back. She stares at him and doesn’t move, even when Jisung gets closer. He walks slowly, with an outreached hand, with bated breath; the cat just stares back at him with light brown eyes, almost as if she’s laughing at Jisung’s carefulness, and then pushes her small forehead into his palm. Jisung breathes out half a laugh and runs his hand down her lithe body, feeling every soft hair under his fingers.

The cat lets him pet her for a minute or a few and then runs off just like that, the small bell on her collar tinkling, the echo reaching him even after she’s gone in the bushes.

Jisung keeps working. He unpacks the boxes, and stuffs the shelves with his own things, explores the shed behind the house, full of old gardening equipment and a thousand empty glass jars and bottles. The garden, overrun with weeds, fills him with hopeful excitement, and he already dreams of homegrown vegetables, even though he always struggled with keeping plants alive. He hangs a picture of his family by the clock and lines the fireplace with random trinkets and makes coffee with fresh water from the well. Everything is somehow even better than he had imagined.

There are four dried plant bundles hung on the wall next to the door. When the evening falls again, Jisung carefully removes one. The herbs have become brittle with time, and Jisung cautiously cradles it in his palms.

It’s mainly stuff Jisung’s familiar with—lavender, rosemary, basil, chamomile, stinging nettle. There’s also some yellow flowers he doesn’t quite recognize, a couple more sticks that must have lost their leaves, all tied together with dark purple cord. He closes his eyes and blows a whisper over the bundle, the words his mother taught him years ago, before crushing it in his fists and throwing it into the fireplace.

It takes some struggle to get the fire going, Jisung’s knees aching from kneeling on the stone floor; the orange of the flame and the sun intensify one another and Jisung leans back, watching the remains of the plants curl up and blacken, a string of dark smoke weaving into the grey one as it slithers up the chimney.

His face heats up, cheeks ten times warmer than his fingers, but Jisung eats his dinner as close to the flame as he can stand, watching the long tongues dance together before they become one, the low crackling as their melody. If he listens real close, it sounds like the fire is whispering back and the warmth settles deep in Jisung’s bones.

The clock chimes, a low ring that echoes in Jisung’s mind as he gets ready for bed, the smell of smoke clinging to his skin no matter how hard he scrubs it. He lays awake for a while, feeling empty and yet heavier than he’s ever been. He’s craving cheesecake, the sweetness on the roof of his mouth and under his tongue.

The night falls and Jisung promises to himself in the darkness. _Tomorrow._ The promise lays heavy on his lips and his sleep is dreamless.

He wakes up restless nonetheless. 

“You came back,” the cashier greets him, but there’s no surprise in his voice. There’s someone unfamiliar with him there too, carrying a box into the kitchen. Jisung only catches his back and a head full of butterscotch hair before the stranger disappears.

“I did,” Jisung gives him a tentative smile and glances towards the dessert rack. He doesn’t linger on the colourful sweets. “What’s on the menu today?”

The other man just hums for a moment, his dark eyes boring into Jisung’s.

“I’ve heard some things about you,” he says instead of answering the question. “Quite interesting ones.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “I am an interesting person,” he answers. There’s a feeling in his gut that they’re playing a game of sorts, though he’s not quite sure of the rules or the strategies.

“Well then,” the cashier leans forward, resting his palms on the counter. “I’d love to get to know you. M’name’s Chris.”

“I’m J—” Woojin’s voice echoes in Jisung’s head and his tongue freezes in his mouth. “Han,” he follows up, swiftly changing direction, and covering it up with a bright smile.

“J-Han?” Chris asks, a lilt of humor in his voice, but his grin dulls.

“No, just Han,” Jisung smiles. His heart hammers in his chest.

“Nice to meet you, Han,” Chris says. His look is heavy on Jisung’s skin, and not in a pleasant way; it makes him itch and squirm, and yet Chris’ smile drops even more. 

The shop smells like cinnamon but also chocolate today, and Jisung isn’t surprised when the cashier pulls out a piece of chocolate cheesecake.

“I liked the raspberry one,” he muses. The cashier shakes his head.

“It’s a good habit to not have two in a row.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow but accepts the plate.

Chris brings him the coffee, but this time he lingers by the table.

“I’m sorry if I seem… cold,” he says, biting his lips. His shifty eyes sends shivers down Jisung’s spine. “We’re just quite wary of strangers. And even more protective of our forest.”

“Oh,” Jisung grins, wide and bright. His foot taps a rhythm under the table. “I can promise you, I don’t plan on hurting it.”

“Good to know,” Chris smiles back with a nod. “Enjoy your meal.”

Jisung watches as he walks away, his dark curls bouncing slightly with every step, and his stomach sinks.

He doesn’t like it when these kinds of games involve lies.

There’s a vase on the table now, Jisung notes idly, savouring the cheesecake, in which rest five flowers—a small bouquet of pink tulips and white wildflowers he doesn’t recognize. One of them has almost fully wilted already and Jisung brushes his fingers over its drying white petals, mind wandering far away.

There’s a subtle aftertaste of coffee behind the chocolate, not enough for Jisung to focus on and he keeps chasing it with every bite. He thinks of the coffee he used to get during his first year at uni, in the horrible shop he lived next door to. It was more like dirty water than anything else, but he was desperate enough, taking every opportunity to inject caffeine into his bloodstream.

There’s a slam and a curse, the stream of his thought stutters and Jisung turns towards the back of the shop, his mouth open around the last bite on his fork.

“Everything is _fine_.” The butterscotch hair from before reappears but before Jisung can get a good glimpse, the cashier hurries over and blocks his view.

Jisung looks back down, savoring the last mouthful. The coffee is strong in this bite, breaking past the chocolate barriers, their bitterness feeding into each other.

The men behind the counter say their hushed goodbyes and Jisung brings the dishes to the counter. He gives a crumpled up banknote to the cashier.

“Thank you,” he smiles at Jisung, pausing for a moment. “I hope you have a nice day.”

Jisung blinks at him before letting his eyes fall on the counter. There, next to the till, in a cup mirroring the one he drank from, rest three flowers—two red clovers and a honey-yellow dandelion.

“You too,” he answers, lifting his eyes back up. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”

This time, Jisung comes back to not only the orange tabby on his doorstep.

Next to her sits a gray cat; all four of their eyes follow Jisung closely as he comes up to them. Still slow and careful, but more daring than yesterday, with an outstretched hand and lowered face. The orange cat bumps her head into his palm again and the gray one sniffs it and Jisung counts it as a win.

He watches as they run off, tails disappearing between leaves. There seems to be a faint path to the forest that he can swear wasn’t there before; but then again, unfamiliar cats don’t simply visit you for no reason.

Something about the soft tinkling of their matching bells is so familiar, it makes Jisung’s heart throb with dull ache, and when he moves to get back to unpacking, his feet feel rooted in their spot and his hands hang heavy.

The third time Jisung leaves Chris’ bakery he takes notice of a bookshop next door. It’s adorned with the same wide windows and glass door, and the curled writing glints gold as it announces the name— _Inkheart_. There’s thick dark blue curtains behind the glass, a heavy contrast to the white sheet of paper stuck to the window from inside. 

_Help Wanted._

Jisung’s feet take him to the door before he even fully realizes it.

The bell above the door tinkles gently; the air inside is much cooler, spreading goosebumps over Jisung’s bare arms. The shop is packed with material, both books and other things, mostly office supplies, but still nicely organized in rows of shelves and tables. Jisung takes his time looking around as he approaches the dark cherry wood desk near the left wall.

A guy in similarly dark reddish hair sits behind it, half of his face obscured by a magazine.

“Hello?” Jisung tentatively calls out and watches as the magazine slowly lowers.

“Yes?” The guy blinks at him from behind gold-rimmed circular glasses. He looks slightly annoyed at the sight of Jisung, and he finds it more than odd.

“Uh, I saw the sign outside…” Jisung trails off, rubbing his suddenly freezing hands together as he nods towards the window. The whole ordeal seems a bit stupid now; he doesn’t even need a job.

“Do you need help reading it?” The cashier asks, raising an eyebrow. Jisung is the one to blink at him now.

“No, I’d like to talk to your manager,” he finally says. “About the offered position.”

“You already are,” the cashier smirks at him. He stands up, leaning forward with his elbows on the counter. “So you want to work here?”

“Yeah,” Jisung answers and raises his chin even as he asks himself the same question. He didn’t give it any thought at all, and yet the chill dimness of the shop somehow feels right on his skin.

“You must be new in town,” the guy muses. “Not many here appreciate the kind of reputation we have built up.”

“What do you mean?”

Jisung doesn’t get the answer for a good second, watching the stranger watch him, all too aware of the way his amber eyes burn his skin.

“We are proud to deal with the more… unconventional things. Stuff most people would call magical. Maybe cursed.”

“I have no problem with that,” Jisung smiles easily. He’s almost glad to hear it.

At his words, the cashier drops his sharp expression, echoing Jisung’s smile, and he’s not surprised at all to find the air around them warm up too.

“Well, then, I’m glad to meet you. You can call me Seungmin.”

Seungmin is much more pleasant to work with once his cold exterior is gone, and Jisung returns to the house with a work schedule and a sense of accomplishment. That evening, the fireplace seems to burn even brighter.

His sleep is still dreamless, and though Jisung is somewhat glad for the break, this is the longest one yet. It makes him restless, far too aware of his thoughts before he falls asleep, far too conscious of the time passing by even as he slumbers. It’s like his body knows that something is missing and so he wakes up every morning just the slightest bit more tired than he should be.

He tries to reason that the move has knocked his inner clock out of rhythm. He prays that’s the cause and not something much worse.

The cats don’t come back until almost a week later. Jisung has started going out to the porch in his free mornings; taking advantage of the pleasant weather as he sips his coffee, still damp hair sticking to his forehead. It’s an exceptionally warm day, the end of May having crept past unnoticed, and Jisung feels decently rested for once.

He stands there for a while, curiously watching a small red bird circle one of the bushes around the house.

“Oh!” One of the cats, the gray one, bumps into his shin, startling Jisung. “Hey. Where did you come from?”

The cat keeps hitting Jisung despite his acknowledgement and then runs down the small steps, her bell ringing loud as she goes. The orange tabby is sitting further away, winking at Jisung with her big golden eyes.

He blinks back, taking a sip of his coffee. The gray cat takes a couple more steps before turning around.

Jisung furrows his brows.

“Do you… want me to follow you?” he asks and then notices that same vague path to the forest now looks well-traveled. The orange cat walks on it before looking back at him, the gray one waiting way ahead.

Jisung sighs, places down the almost finished coffee and follows them.

The path fades out after walking deeper into the forest, so he keeps his eyes glued on orange tabby’s tail, careful to not lose sight. They don’t stray far—soon enough, the cats lead him through bushes into a forest opening.

The sudden sun burns Jisung’s eyes and he shuts them, then takes a step forward and slowly blinks them open again. The world gets tinted the slightest blue hue and he catches the cats leaping into tall grass, tips of their tails barely sticking out over the greenery. The place is scattered with flowers, bright and colourful clusters, like nature-made bouquets; the cats navigate through them in tandem and melt into the grass. Jisung takes another step inside the clearing, feeling the leaves gently brush against his calves. He looks up for a second, distracted by a crow emerging from somewhere within, its caw echoing from high up in the blue, but the brightness makes him squint and his gaze falls downwards again—down to the tops of the trees on the other side, gently swaying, down to the dark green bushes and then to the glistening butterscotch locks of a stranger, the grass hiding his body as he sits between the flowers.

He has his head angled and Jisung is too far to see anything besides the slope of his nose and the pout of his lips. So, he comes closer, drawn by unseen forces, hands brushing against the grass. It’s almost like when he met the cats; he walks slow, his breath bated, his heart stuttering to a stop. 

It’s when Jisung gets close, the pull stronger with every step taken, that the stranger lifts his head.

His cat-like eyes meet Jisung’s widened ones almost immediately. A smile grows on his lips and Jisung feels time stop for an infinite second. 

He freezes against the pull as a half-taken breath dies in his throat. The stranger’s eyes are so dark, even meters away Jisung can almost see his reflection in them. It’s an endlessness; the kind that pulls you inwards, downwards. The final tug that makes both Jisung and time move again.

Jisung comes to stand in front of the stranger; he sits with his legs crossed, the cats already curled up in his lap, his hands buried in their fur. There’s a basket near him, halfway filled with flowers, blue and white. He looks up at Jisung, a soft smile still playing on his lips. He’s pretty and alluring and Jisung is breathless.

“Hello,” the stranger says, blinking slowly.

“Hi,” Jisung answers. They stare at each other for another few seconds and the grin on the stranger’s face grows bigger.

“Did they bring you here?” He glances down at his cats for a moment and then back at Jisung.

“Yeah,” Jisung laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess so.”

“That’s really nice of them,” the stranger looks back down and scratches the orange’s chin. She throws a glance at Jisung and leaps out of the guy’s lap. “Oh no,” he laughs. “Seems like someone got shy!”

Jisung lifts an eyebrow at it, but it’s endearing, so he sits, mirroring his position, and, in a moment of courage, grins at the stranger.

“I’m Jisung,” he offers, mind filled with the dizzying sweetness from the flowers, too busy focusing on the keen eyes of the stranger to remember Woojin’s warning.

Only when he laughs again, a light giggle that Jisung can feel echoing in his fingertips, that he remembers.

But his gaze isn’t heavy in the same way Chris’ was and Jisung doesn’t feel the need to backtrack.

“Oh dear,” he says. “You’re brave. I’m Minho and, I suppose you are the new neighbour of mine, aren’t you?”

“I’m glad the house finally has someone to take care of it,” Minho sighs. He talked Jisung into helping him pick the flowers, teaching him to snap them under the second leaf from the top. Jisung could feel the pulse echoing in his wrists, irregular, quick rhythm, when Minho’s soft fingers wrapped around his, moving them in a demonstration.

He can still feel the ghost of them on his skin as his fingers brush against yet another flower.

“I’ll do my best,” Jisung promises, lifting his eyes and meeting Minho’s. The sun makes him squint and his nose scrunches with it and Jisung looks down almost immediately, hoping his cheeks aren’t aflame.

Minho sends him home when the very bottom of the sun touches the tree tops and the basket is overflowing with flowers.

“What will you do with them?” Jisung asks, pointing at it. Minho hums.

“I’ll make some tea tonight and put the rest away,” he answers. “Have a feeling they’ll come to use, but doesn’t everything, sooner or later?”

Jisung opens his mouth to ask something else, but Minho takes a single flower from the basket and hands it to Jisung.

“A payment,” Minho says.

“Oh— thank you,” Jisung accepts it, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. The flower’s big petals droop just the slightest bit. They’re bright sky blue, not a single splotch of different color. He couldn’t name it, and yet he’s very familiar with the sight of it between his fingers. 

Jisung finds it hard to swallow.

“They’re good for avoiding bad dreams,” Minho muses quietly, as if he’s speaking to himself, looking at the flower in Jisung’s hand. In the deafening silence of the settling forest, Jisung hears every word, even his own heart seemingly stopping. “Supposedly also makes the messy ones clearer. But,” Minho leans in a little closer, his voice quieting even more. “It never worked on me. I think my brain is just too scrambled for their gentle nudges.”

 _I know,_ Jisung wants to say. _So is mine._

“I don’t really have bad dreams,” he whispers instead when Minho straightens out again. His fingers tremble, but he meets Minho’s gaze. 

It’s harsh, unlike anything Jisung’s seen from him the whole day, and he can feel it cutting into his skin, raising goosebumps along the way. Compared to this, Chris’ heavy stare seems like nothing, and Jisung feels nauseous.

 _Not anymore, apparently_ , he wants to add, to turn the almost lie into a half-truth. _And even then, it can’t be bad if you don’t know how it ends, right?_ he almost asks, because Minho’s eyes seem knowing.

But the flower is blue, unmistakably blue, so Jisung keeps quiet.

“Then maybe it’ll help you with the messy ones,” Minho says, moment broken, and the soft smile is back on his lips. “You never know until you try.”

Jisung gives the ground a tight lipped smile, clutching the flower between his fingers.

“You should come by for lunch someday,” Minho continues.

“Oh. Yeah, maybe,” Jisung answers. “Someday.”

Minho smiles and gestures at the cats rubbing along his shins. “Soonie and Dori will take you home now.”

“Thank you,” Jisung nods and they part like this, each heading to opposing sides, Minho with his basketful of blooms and Jisung with his singular blue one. His heart flutters but he doesn’t look back. He thinks of the ticking clock.

He wants to throw the flower into the fireplace but doesn’t dare to. Instead Jisung places it between the pages of twenty-four and twenty-five of an old fairytale book and goes straight to bed.

He can’t sleep for quite some time, so he watches the night sky through a gap in the curtains and thinks. 

There was something his mother said once, when he was a child. Not to anyone in particular, just the still air of the room, the way she used to every once in a while. 

She said: _A blue flower in bloom foresees upcoming gloom._ Jisung knew he shouldn’t ask, so they sat in silence until she turned to stare into Jisung’s eyes. 

She asked: _Have you had that dream again? Was the fire blue?_ Jisung shook his head. 

_Forest fires can’t be blue,_ he asserted, remembering the fat fact book he’d read not long ago. _They’re red and orange._

_Ah, baby,_ she cooed at him and pet his hair gently and though Jisung was starting to get picky about parental affection, he said nothing it that time. _But, in the end, it’s not about the fire at all, is it?_

He didn’t know the answer then, and he’s not sure he knows the answer now. 

Jisung is starting to get worried about how much time he has left to find out.

The tree leaves whisper again, and their branches creak, and the ground dips under invisible palms. Wildflowers, drunk on midnight dew, echo an indistinct call mouthed by unseen lips, before being lulled back to sleep. 

One blue petal turns white and the clock stutters its minute hand.

  
  


_The moment he’s inside the forest, the sound floods in. If the fire seemed loud before, now it’s almost deafening and if Jisung hadn't expecting it, he would have had to stop and press his palms to his ears in hopes to block it out. But he was, he’s gotten used to it a long time ago, easily toning it out, as he instead searches for another sound._

_As he listens, Jisung weaves between flaming trees. The path is different each time and Jisung never bothers trying to memorize it; he lets himself wander aimlessly, as if taking a simple walk, the fire barely a whisper over his skin._

_That is, until a weak shout finally catches his attention._

“Help!” _someone screams and that’s when Jisung’s heart suddenly awakens, speeding to pump blood and adrenaline through his body as he rushes towards the sound._

_That’s when the smoke floods into his lungs and his eyes, forcing him to pull his shirt collar up to cover his mouth and squint. That’s when he can no longer carelessly saunter and has to be wary of every flame so they don’t scorch his skin._

_He follows the voice. He always follows the voice._

  
  


“You know the house I live in?” Jisung asks the next day as he helps Seungmin stack the shelves.

“Uh, yeah?” Seungmin glances at him. “I suppose so.”

“Do you know anything about the person that lived there before me?”

It’s not what Jisung wants to ask; he’s much more curious about Lee Minho, the strange neighbour with butterscotch hair and peculiar cats and those keen, dagger-sharp eyes. He wants to know where he came from, what kind of person he is, what kind of coffee he drinks. How to bring that gentle smile to his lips, and then keep it there.

Somehow, Jisung finds he’s not sure he wants Seungmin to know about their meeting. He thinks he wouldn’t like the way his amber eyes could see his cheeks darkening. 

“Mmmm,” Seungmin hums, stopping for a moment as he rubs at his cheek. “No, I don’t really think so. She died a few years back and was a big recluse before that. Why? Did you find something weird?”

He peers at Jisung in a way that just screams _morbid curiosity_ and Jisung almost feels bad about not being able to give Seungmin anything interesting.

“No, not really,” he says, shaking his head, and Jisung can almost feel Seungmin pouting. “Well,” he pauses for a moment in the middle of picking a book up. “I guess she was, you know. One of them.”

 _One of us,_ something whispers in his head, but Jisung doesn’t quite like the way it feels on his tongue.

“Them?” Seungmin questions, tilting his head. Jisung hesitates.

“Something… magical. If you could call it that.”

“Oh! _Oh.”_

“Yeah.”

The box is empty when Jisung reaches down, and he bites his lip. The silence grows awkward without work to turn his attention to. Seungmin, however, doesn’t seem to mind.

“Do you think it was anything bad?” he asks all of a sudden, scaring Jisung as he absentmindedly scans the book titles.

“What do you mean?” Jisung furrows his brow.

“Like, the stuff she did. Did you find evidence for something evil?”

Jisung hums. “No, I don’t think so.”

To be fair, he hasn’t been looking, and even if he decided to, he’s not even sure how to find evidence of magical wrongdoing. He’s never encountered that.

Or maybe he has. Suddenly, tall tongues of flames fill Jisung’s vision and he grips a table next to him as his knees go weak. Maybe he has. It would make sense after all, and yet it makes Jisung’s worldview crumble a little.

He tries his best to not think about whether Minho plays any part in any of this; maybe it’s because he already suspects the answer and it scares him.

“Do you—” Jisung starts a question without truly knowing how it should end, but he doesn’t even get a chance to figure out as the bells above the door tinkle and Seungmin rushes off to greet the customers.

Jisung regards them as he walks to put the empty boxes away. As far as he’s aware, _Inkheart_ is the only bookshop in town, also serving as the main spot to get your stationary at, which is why they get a fair amount of customers, usually students or parents. In a way, Jisung finds it a little funny; considering Seungmin’s former warnings about the “bad reputation” he’d expected for people to actually avoid the place, or at least act cold with the workers, and yet nobody has given him any stares or been anything more than pleasant. As far as his experience working in retail goes, this is the most relaxed Jisung’s ever felt.

If not for the shelves in the back of the store, he would have thought Seungmin has made the whole thing up as a way to scare a newcomer.

It’s nothing incredibly unsettling—they don’t sell vials of blood or boxes full of ashes or anything particularly sinister; mostly it’s just books, and yet people clearly steer clear of them. A couple times, Jisung has observed customers step towards the shelves before taking notice and bolting right away.

Sometimes, he could swear even the light doesn’t want to work properly there.

It’s both these quiet wonders and the earlier conversation with Seungmin that makes Jisung turn towards that particular part of the store. He sneaks a glance, but both Seungmin and the young woman with her child seem busy with other things, and he slips between shelves unnoticed.

Unlike the main part of the store that boasts shiny, brand new books, the ones hidden away here seem older and duller. It’s all covered in a thin layer of dust, and the places where it has been disturbed clearly stand out, and Jisung’s attention wanders to these particular spots.

One of the books he picks up has a dark maroon dust-cover, with silver pressed letters curling at the front. _Introduction to Herbalism._

Jisung can’t help but curl his lips into a small smile. Out of all the books kept here, he would end up picking one of the few his mother had in her tiny library.

He slides the book back into its place without another glance, and moves on.

A lot of the books don’t have any names on their spines, just initials or intricate symbols he doesn’t quite recognize. He’s about to pull up one of those, a cream coloured tome, thicker than the width of his palm, when Seungmin touches his elbow. Jisung almost jumps at the contact.

“Snooping, are we?” he asks, a smile clear in his voice.

“I’m just curious,” Jisung answers with a shrug, letting his arm drop down. “Where did you even get all of these?”

“The owner likes to travel. I suppose he picked most of these around the country, or maybe got them online. I think it’s more of a hobby,” Seungmin chuckles, leading them both back to the front of the store. “Not that many people come here for these.”

“Ah. He must be rich then?” 

Seungmin laughs at that, leaning on the counter as he picks up a magazine he’d left on it. 

“I guess you could say that. I don’t really care, as long as I get paid.”

“Good morning!” Chris greets Jisung excitedly.

It’s been almost a week since he last visited and a few days since Jisung met Minho. His tongue itches to ask, but he decides against it and just nods at Chris.

“I’m starving,” he sighs, leaning his elbows on the counter. The shop smells like cinnamon and apple today, but to his surprise, Chris’ choice is strawberry.

“Let me feed you then,” Chris winks at him and Jisung laughs.

He goes to sit at his usual table and Woojin, who he’s seen around the shop a fair amount since their first meeting, gives him a nod and a smile.

Chris brings Jisung his coffee and he takes a bite of the pie, savoring the taste, watching people walk around with purpose even during the early hours. There’s a couple walking by, their hands tightly clasped together, a dog excitedly pulling them; the fruitiness feels perfect for the weather outside and Jisung considers buying more to take home.

“Hey!” he hears from the back and turns just in time to see the butterscotch hair carry a box into the kitchen. 

A thought suddenly occurs to Jisung.

It _has_ to be Minho, he thinks, even though he hasn’t seen his face and the hair colour isn’t that distinctive. There’s a feeling in Jisung’s gut, a similar pull from that day they met. 

_It could also be literally anyone else,_ Jisung reasons with himself. He takes another bite and forces his attention back outside. The pie is sweet and light and it makes him feel airy too, reminds him of the early spring days.

A kid runs past, trips on one of his shoelaces and falls, and quickly gets up again. Jisung smiles at his determined face, reminded of the way—

“I think that’s all,” comes a muffled voice from behind the counter and Jisung’s heart flutters. 

_It’s Minho_. He’s sure of it. He looks towards them. 

Chris is talking, hands wildly gesticulating, and Minho’s cat-like eyes are trained on him.

He has a pleasing profile and Jisung finds himself staring, maybe a little too obviously, following the messy lines of his fringe down to his nose and lips, pouting the slightest bit, to the way his jaw curls. Minho moves his head and Jisung freezes, thinking he’s been caught, but Minho doesn’t look his way.

Jisung isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or glad Minho doesn’t notice Jisung’s eyes burning trails into his skin until he leaves, but the strawberry cheesecake suddenly doesn’t feel all that tasty.

The orange cat, Soonie, is back, fairly late in the evening when the sun is almost fully set, the few last rays struggling to break through leaves.

Jisung is on his way back from getting some firewood; he jumps, heart settling low in his stomach, when he feels a brush against his bare ankle.

“It’s just you,” he sighs before frowning. “What are you doing here?”

The cat bounds down the porch steps.

That’s when Jisung notices the front door has swung open. There’s no light coming from inside, though he’s sure he left the lamp on, and his pulse skyrockets.

He drops the wood to the grass as quietly as possible, then, after some consideration, picks up one of the pieces, holding it like a baseball bat.

Soonie just sits near the porch steps, watching him with a tilted head. Jisung doesn’t pay her any mind as he creeps towards the door. He pauses when his toes reach the threshold and takes a deep breath before pushing the door open all the way.

It’s not pitch black like Jisung expected; the fire is lit, bathing the room in soft glow, and right in front of it sits a figure.

“Han Jisung, I presume?” The man—more like the boy, Jisung soon realizes, despite his deep voice—has his thin legs folded, palms resting on his ankles. He’s dressed in a light coloured tunic of sorts, and there’s gold glinting on his neck and wrists, and his hair is properly messed up and darker than the shadows of the evening.

Jisung slowly lowers his makeshift weapon as he takes a few more steps towards the stranger.

“Who are you?” He wills his voice to stay steady and mostly succeeds.

The stranger grins, and from closer, Jisung notices the sprinkling of freckles over his cheeks.

“I think the real question should be not _who,”_ he says, every syllable hanging purposeful and heavy. “But _what.”_

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me your thoughts uwu  
> you could also come talk to me on [twt](https://twitter.com/squishiesungie) or [cc!](https://curiouscat.me/squishiesungie)
> 
> also mb consider retweeting [ the tweet about my fic](https://twitter.com/squishiesungie/status/1230962574684049408?s=20)?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no it's been A While.  
> i do apologize, i started working and it has kept me busy af, hopefully the next update will come sooner!  
> i hope you enjoy this either way~ love you byeee

“Okay,” Jisung furrows his eyebrows. His fingers stay tight around the wood. _“What_ are you?”

The stranger is silent for a few breaths and even in the dim light Jisung can make out the way his gaze seems to scan him.

“I’m a forest spirit, to put it simply,” he finally answers. “I suppose some people like to call our kind faeries, or even deities; but it’s all the same to me.”

It’s not exactly what Jisung had expected, but he can’t say he’s shocked. He regards the so-called forest spirit once again and now that he knows to look for it, he can see the faint glow from the gold he’s adorned with, and the muted markings curling all over his skin. 

Maybe he should be more suspicious, but the presence is familiar in a particular way and Jisung feels his pulse slowing down.

“You… don’t seem surprised.” The spirit frows and Jisung gives him a weak smile.

“I’ve met your kind before.”

He drops the firewood to the side and comes to sit in front of his strange guest, mirroring his posture.

“There’s…” Jisung takes a deep breath. “There’s a reason you decided to show yourself, isn’t there?”

Jisung can’t help but think back to his dream; the long tongues of fire swallowing up entire trees, choking the forest with smoky black. A shudder passes down his spine.

The spirit nods, reaching out to take Jisung’s hand.

His touch is warm, hotter than a regular human’s, and Jisung finds himself relaxing without even meaning to as the heat spreads over his body.

“Lee Song, the old woman who lived here before you, she was a friend of mine,” the spirit speaks slowly, and Jisung does his best to pay attention. “She even named me. Lee Felix. She never got around to tell me what it meant.”

The spirit smiles a little at the memory. Jisung lowers his gaze to where his fingers are curled around Jisung’s wrist.

“I’m sorry. It must have been hard when she passed.”

“It was,” Felix nods. His smile doesn’t wilt. “But not unexpected. We live much longer lives than our more human acquaintances, so loss is something you have to get accustomed to. Especially if you don’t want to isolate yourself.

But the thing is, it’s not that I simply wish for company. I need your help, Han Jisung.”

“With what?” Jisung whispers. The dread, still heavy in the back of his mind, rears its ugly head.

“This forest,” Felix accompanies the words with a broad sweep of his free hand, “is unusual. It’s old, older than me, older than the entirety of humanity. But not only that; it is also incredibly powerful. Uncared for, its magic will easily grow too wild to be contained. The effects of something like that could be disastrous. For the town and for the forest itself.”

“And— how exactly do I come into this picture? I mean, I’m not particularly strong or, well… a forest spirit,” Jisung finishes weakly. He can feel his fingers start to tremble.

“No,” Felix muses. His grip on Jisung’s hand tightens. “You do already have a connection to it, though. There’s a reason you’ve moved here.” 

It’s not a question.

“You could say that,” Jisung murmurs.

“Please, consider this at least. Look around, I’m pretty sure Song has left notes. Just… Well, the town has an annual Midsummer festival, and I hope to hear your answer then.”

“What exactly even is this you’re offering me?” Jisung questions, voice shaking, desperate to get more from Felix even as he can see the forest spirit pulling away.

“To become a Guardian. Many magical places around the world have one; usually they’ve been touched by its power in one way or another, and that’s how they gain this position. It isn’t unheard of to have faeries help a human with a job like this.” Felix lets go of Jisung’s hand and stands up. “I guess I should apologize too—I’ve watched you since you came here, but I can promise, it was for innocent reasons. And I’ve found that I agree with the forest; I think you’d be a great Guardian.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Jisung shakes his head, bewildered. Felix grins and steps around him.

“You’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

And just like that, the spirit is gone. 

Jisung turns around to find Soonie sitting in the doorway, staring at him.

“So, this goes way deeper than I expected.” 

The cat meows, as if in agreement, and comes close enough to butt her head into his side. Jisung sighs and pets her, thoughts swirling as he stares into the fireplace.

“Have you ever heard of forest Guardians?” Jisung asks the next time he sees Seungmin.

“Huh? Like the galaxy ones?” he asks, lifting his head from whatever magazine he’s reading today.

"What?"

"You know, Guardians of the Galaxy? The comic?"

“No. _What?_ No, I mean, like, magical forest Guardians. _Not_ superheroes,” says Jisung, fingers drumming a senseless beat on his thigh.

Seungmin hums. “No, I don’t think so. Am I supposed to? What are they?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me that, actually." Jisung bites his lip, leaning down until his forehead hits the counter.

“Sorry. Maybe try looking around the back? If it is magical, there might be something.”

Jisung just groans in answer.

“Why are you asking anyway?” Seungmin pushes at Jisung’s ankles with his foot.

“It’s just…” Jisung sighs. “It’s a complicated matter.”

He can feel Seungmin’s stare burning a hole in the back of his head.

“Whatever you say, weirdo.”

Jisung bounces his leg, clutching his hands into fists as he watches Chris put the glass with his iced americano on the table.

“Thank you,” Jisung murmurs, keeping his eyes on the table. The cheesecake today is peanut butter, and any other time he’d be excited to dig in.

Today, however, his thoughts are consumed with the only other customer here.

Woojin’s sipping his steaming tea when Jisung practically falls into the seat in front of him.

“Um, hello?” he raises an eyebrow and Jisung gives him a shaky smile.

“Sorry for intruding.”

“It’s fine,” Woojin shakes his head. “I’m never against company.”

Jisung nods at that, taking a second to sip his own drink and collect his thoughts.

“I need to talk to you.”

Woojin blinks at him.

“Somewhere more… private, I mean.” Jisung’s voice has fallen to a whisper and it’s all he can do to not glance over his shoulder.

“Oh?” Woojin takes another long sip, tipping his cup upwards. Jisung bites his lip as he waits for him to break the silence. “I see. That’s fine. I could meet you for a walk around the forest?”

“Yes, that would be good.” Jisung pauses. “Are you free right now?”

The outside door swings open, letting in a gust of heated air, but Jisung keeps his gaze on Woojin. He gives him a small smile. 

“How about in an hour? I’ll meet you near the main road, by the dead oak tree.”

“An hour? I-I mean, sure, yeah, I’ll—”

“Okay, well, I gotta go now,” Woojin gives him a wink and just like that, he’s off, the empty teacup the only proof he’s been there at all.

“Hey,” someone says from besides Jisung, making him jump.

It’s not Chan.

“How lovely to see you here,” Minho says, taking a seat in front of him and Jisung almost chokes on thin air.

“You too,” he answers too fast and downs half of his coffee to try and cover up his shock. His fingers shake, and Jisung can recognize he’s feeling anxious, though he’s not even sure _why._

He supposes there’s just something different about the way Minho’s eyes sparkle, the way sun bounces off his hair.

Minho doesn’t seem to mind, leaning his cheek on his palm.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, casual and clearly so relaxed, that Jisung feels a little stupid.

“Good. I’m good,” he answers and finally takes a bite of the pie. It’s delicious but he barely notices that. “What about you?”

Minho hums. “A little bored, to be honest. There’s not much to do around here.”

“Oh—”

“May I have a taste?”

Jisung blinks at him for a moment and then nods. He cuts off a bite of the pie, too focused on the way it crumbles, too aware of how his fingers wrap around the fork, too careful with the way he carries it over to Minho’s mouth.

 _Way_ too obvious about the way he stares at Minho’s plump lips close around the piece.

Jisung blinks and flicks his eyes upwards. He expects for Minho to look at him with that teasing sparkle, but instead his eyes look serious and thoughtful, as if he’s incredibly close to figuring a puzzle out.

“It’s good,” Minho says when he swallows, and the look is gone. Jisung offers an unsure smile. He takes another piece, for himself this time, but Minho opens his mouth, raising an eyebrow slightly, and he feeds him without a second to think.

Still chewing, Minho wraps his fingers over Jisung’s, moving the fork to get another bite and carry it over to Jisung’s mouth.

They must look ridiculous, and Jisung grins before accepting, savoring the way the dessert melts on his tongue.

Minho leads their hands down and they stay there, on the table, Minho’s fingers snug against Jisung’s.

There’s a moment of comfortable quiet between them, the thoughtful look back on Minho’s face and it has Jisung wondering. He’s about to ask, but Minho opens his mouth first.

“So, Woojin, huh?”

“You— you know him?” Jisung wonders out loud before realizing it’s a dumb question.

“I know most people here,” Minho shrugs, and his hand slips away. Jisung takes the half-empty glass. “Comes with the job, I suppose.”

“Oh.” Jisung files away that piece of information for a later time, when he’s less preoccupied. “What about him, anyway?”

Minho regards him, the stare twisting up Jisung’s insides.

“What about him indeed,” he murmurs, so quietly that Jisung wonders if he’d misheard. “Nothing important, I was just curious.”

“Ah. Well, I don’t really know him.” _Yet,_ Jisung’s mind supplies. He downs the coffee, if only to look away from Minho’s prying gaze.

Minho’s fingers beat a pattern on the table.

“Do you—”

All of a sudden, Chris is besides them, and Minho’s mouth falls shut.

“Would you like more?” he asks, gesturing to Jisung’s empty glass, and Jisung wonders if he can feel freezing cold atmosphere, surrounding them even with the heatwave outside.

Jisung can’t help but wonder if it’s his fault; was he once again too unsure? did he falter in the wrong place? Or was this why Minho approached him in the first place? To confuse him, make his head spin?

Either way, Jisung has no clue how to fix this.

“Sure,” he answers, a beat too late, and Chris nods. Jisung’s all too aware of Minho’s eyes, still on him, so he watches Chris as he walks away instead, ignoring his own thumping heart. Silence falls again, so different from before, that Jisung aches.

“Anyway, isn’t it expensive?” Minho asks, as if he’s talking about the weather. Jisung spares a glance at him and watches as he picks up the fork and cuts off a piece of cheesecake. He’s no longer looking at Jisung.

“Huh? Th-the cheesecake?” Jisung tilts his head when his brain finally processes Minho’s words. He nods and then hums around the fork.

“More like eating out so often,” Minho says. “Don’t you come here, what, every couple days?”

Jisung can feel himself redden and he curses drinking his first coffee so fast. His hands feel empty, but he doesn’t dare to pry the fork from Minho’s fingers.

“The coffee is good,” he says, as if it’s a valid defense. “And the cheesecake is tasty. And it’s not _terribly_ expensive.”

Minho hums again, taking another bite. Chris comes back to them, smiling down at Jisung as he places the coffee on his table and Jisung grins back at him, the smile awkward on his lips, and mutters a quiet “thanks”, watching him leave again.

“Those kinda sound like excuses,” Minho speaks, making Jisung turn back.

“They’re not?” he says, sounding defensive even as he tries not to. Minho frowns, but Jisung beats him to it. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Minho lets the fork fall on the plate.

“You come here, to me, then get all weird and start acting… I don’t even know,” Jisung lets out a frustrated breath. “Just. What’s wrong?”

Minho is quiet for a while, his gaze not meeting Jisung’s.

“Is it me?” Jisung’s voice is small and he curls his hands into tight fists on his thighs. “Did I do something?”

“No!” Minho shakes his head, eyes growing wide. “No, no, it’s not your fault, I promise. It’s just…”

He bites his lip and Jisung does his best to wait.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” Minho shakes his head some more, this time staring at the table. “I have no right to act like this, you’re right. It’s stupid.”

“I—”

“Maybe it’s best if I don’t… I think I should just go,” Minho says, sounding definite, and stands up without sparing a glance at Jisung. “I’m sorry.”

“What—”

And just like that, Minho is out of the door. Jisung just stares helplessly at his retreating back before sighing and pushing the plate with cheesecake away. He’s not sure it would do anything to fix the gross taste inside his mouth.

  
  


_It’s hard to say whether the person is young or old or to even try and gather their accent; even as the shouts grow louder and more desperate, soon overpowering the roaring of the fire, Jisung still can’t place any defining feature about them, always left wondering who exactly it’ll be._

_The dream is cruel in that way._

_Then, Jisung takes a certain turn and trips. He falls to his knees and desperately crawls forwards, not even sure himself what he's looking for._

_And they finally call his name._

  
  


Woojin is leaning against the dead oak, just as he promised, waiting for Jisung. He parks his car a few steps from him and sits there for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Hey,” he waves once he’s out, slamming the door shut.

Woojin answers with a nod and a soft smile. As Jisung approaches, he pulls out a pack of smokes, tilting it towards Jisung.

He shakes his head in a silent decline and stops in front of Woojin, watching as he lights up with a silver lighter. It glints in the sunlight. Woojin notices Jisung’s curious stare and hands it over.

“It was my father’s,” he offers and Jisung hums.

It’s heavy, the silver dimmed in the corners and scuffed. There’s an engraving on each side; one is of a stylized sun, with an open eye inside it, and the rays extending towards the sides. Jisung turns it over to find they turn into swirls surrounding a crescent moon turned on its side, so it almost looks like a closed eye.

“It’s beautiful,” Jisung remarks, handing it back. Woojin smiles at him, slowly blowing out smoke.

“Ironically,” he says, looking up at the sky, “it was the only thing that survived the fire.”

“Oh. Oh!” Jisung blinks. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Woojin shakes his head. “It’s been a while. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Um…” Jisung rubs his jaw. The sun is burning his back, so he gestures at the forest. “Let’s walk, maybe?” 

“Sure.”

Though rays still break through the canopy, it’s much cooler in the shadows and Jisung does his best to relax his shoulders.

“So, from our first meeting, I assume you’re aware of the more… _weird_ things, right?”

“That depends.” 

Jisung can feel Woojin’s stare scorching his skin. He sighs, a small smirk curling his lips.

“Is everyone in this town capable of that death stare or am I just lucky?” he mumbles to himself.

“Sorry?”

“No, no, it’s nothing. It’s just…” Jisung sighs once more, annoyed at his disorderly thoughts and the anxiety locking up his words. “Okay, can you promise me something?”

“Well, I can try,” Woojin chuckles.

Jisung stops and turns his whole body to look him in the eyes.

“Can you promise me you’ll believe me?”

Woojin’s smile fades at that and he nods his head, dropping the cigarette and putting it out with his foot.

“Hit me.”

Jisung nods, looking up at the slowly moving leaves. He takes a deep breath and starts talking.

As it turns out, Woojin doesn’t know about the forest Guardians any more than Jisung does, but he offers to do some digging of his own and bring him whatever info he finds, which Jisung gladly accepts.

But that’s not what truly gives Jisung relief. More than that, he’s happy to finally talk to someone other than his mother about the things that have been plaguing him since he was a child; the dreams and visions of the fire and the helpless stranger. It feels more than strange, to give up such a secret part of himself to someone who he barely knows, but at the same time, it is incredibly freeing. And for what it’s worth, Woojin promises to look for information about prophetic dreams too. Jisung, however, is not too concerned about that.

To him, it has happened so many times, he feels more than prepared to deal with it, whenever it may happen.

“Have you, yourself, ever had an encounter with a faerie?” Jisung asks once his throat feels raw from talking so much. 

Further ahead, between the lean bodies of trees, glints dark red—Jisung’s pick-up. They’ve been walking in a big circle, and though he can feel it in his feet, Jisung feels properly energized.

The question makes Woojin chuckle, and he just shakes his head when Jisung raises his eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just…” he blows out a breath. “Yeah, I guess you could say I have. It’s nothing as dramatic as yours, though. I think… Maybe I’ve gotten used to it too. Take it for granted, that something— no, some _one_ so unfamiliar and wild can be called a friend of mine.”

“Really? Is it… Is it someone I know too? Or I’ve seen, I guess?”

Woojin gives him half a smile.

“I don’t think it’s polite to tell, Jisung. They’re rarely happy to be found out without permission.”

“Oh… Oh, no, should I have not..?” Jisung stops and stares at Woojin, dread starting to pool in his stomach.

He shakes his head. “No, no, this is a different thing. As far as I understand, your, uh, _Felix_ doesn’t live between humans; I don’t think he’d take this as an offense, especially as it was not meant to be one.”

“Okay. Good.” Jisung sighs and nods towards his car. “Should I give you a lift home?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Woojin smiles at him. “I have _friends_ to visit anyway.”

Jisung grins at that.

“Thank you once again. Really.”

“Thank me once I’ve actually done something,” Woojin laughs and ushers Jisung towards the pick-up. “Now go get some rest. I'm sure you've got lots to think about.”

Jisung watches as Woojin’s figure disappears in his rearview mirror, and for the first time in a long, long while, he truly feels light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me your thoughts uwu  
> you could also come talk to me on [twt](https://twitter.com/squishiesungie) or [cc!](https://curiouscat.me/squishiesungie)
> 
> also mb consider retweeting [ the tweet about my fic](https://twitter.com/squishiesungie/status/1230962574684049408?s=20)?

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me your thoughts uwu  
> you could also come talk to me on [twt](https://twitter.com/squishiesungie) or [cc!](https://curiouscat.me/squishiesungie)
> 
> also mb consider retweeting [ the tweet about my fic](https://twitter.com/squishiesungie/status/1230962574684049408?s=20)?


End file.
